


A Mug For Your Bourbon

by dametokillfor



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 19:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dametokillfor/pseuds/dametokillfor
Summary: Post 4x1, The Virgin Gary.As he watches Gary sleep quietly next to him, John Constantine has reaches the conclusion that he is completely and utterlyfucked.





	A Mug For Your Bourbon

He wants to touch. His fingers are itching to reach out, and brush through the sweaty, curling hair, or to skim across the mark sucked into his shoulder. He wants to trace the line of his jaw, and remember how it felt to press kisses against it, both of them laughing and shushing each other.

Yes, as he watches Gary sleep quietly next to him, John Constantine has reached the conclusion that he is completely and utterly _fucked_.

He’s biting his tongue, to stop himself whispering words that he needs to swallow down, to stop himself making promises and offering forever and _I could fall in love with you_ . It would be so easy to give in, to stop pushing everything away, to _stay_. He could stop hiding behind his mask of indifference, at the bottom of a whisky bottle, in the beds of strangers and hide in Gary’s arms instead.

He knows he won’t. He knows the moment Gary wakes up, and greets him with that too big smile, that he will close off again. He’ll make some sarcastic comment about being happy to help Gary with his pesky virginity, and he’ll go back to being the aloof, man of mystery that Gary expects him to be. The perfect fantasy.

If Gary knew him, knew what he’d done, where he was going. If Gary knew the things that haunted him in the night, in the day, the nightmares that John has, the terror that he feels every second, the shine would be gone. Gary wouldn’t want that John, the _real_ John.

And isn’t that the kicker?

Even if John let himself give into whatever this could be, it wouldn’t last. Gary would see the broken, frightened, panicked, hurt little man than John really was and realise there was so much more for him out there. He’d promise to help, to be his friend, but tell him that he couldn’t be anything more. He couldn’t be what John needed and John thinks that would hurt more than his own impending eternal damnation.

Or worse, he’d stay, and even before the demons, John would destroy everything he loved about Gary. The smile, the warmth, the enthusiasm, the drive, the glee. He’d become bitter and hurt and sad, and John can’t let that happen to him. Gary doesn't deserve to be one of the husks John leaves behind.

He wishes he could fantasize, dream, just pretend for a moment they could have something beautiful. He wants to imagine slow, lazy Sundays together. Sharing out the newspapers, drinking tea in bed, and sleeping the day away. He wants to imagine curling up with Gary on the couch and watching the latest episode of whatever cheesy sci-fi TV show is on that week, Gary explaining why that woman sleeping with a dragon isn't weird, _honestly John._

He wants - in the most private, secret, hidden part of his jet black soul - to let himself fall.

But it always ends the same way, eyes going black, blood pouring from empty sockets. The wide grin John loves so much becomes a mouth filled with needle teeth, or a gaping maw filled with tentacles, and it laughs and it hisses and flicks at him...

_No dice, Johnny boy._

The demon’s face, their name, the way it contorts them changes every time, but the moment that John gets too happy, something in him takes that beautiful thing and tears it to shreds.

An incredibly unappealing snort comes from Gary, and he rolls onto his stomach and mumbles into his pillow, “Mmmm m’goldfish needs skis.”

He can’t let that happen to Gary.

He’s said it to himself a thousand times before. He won’t get attached, he won’t pull them in, and pull them under with him and he _always_ does.

But not this time, not Gary.

Not _this_ Gary.

He’s made up his mind to leave, when a hand reaches out and smacks him square in the face. It fumbles around, grabbing at whatever it can, before latching onto his forearm, and pulling at him.

“No.”

“Gary, mate, I’ve got to go.” John’s protestations sound weak, even to his own ears. He’s not made any more of a move to get out of the bed, or to break himself free from Gary’s grip.

“No.” Gary pulls harder, “Stay. Til m’rning.”

“You planning on bribing me with breakfast?”

Gary lifts his head from the pillow, turns to face John and fuck, he’s beautiful even half asleep, with unruly curls and bleary eyes, “Even got a mug you can drink bourbon out of.”

John _wants_.

He wants more than anything.

Gary laces their fingers together, lifts their hands to his lips and presses a kiss to John’s knuckles.

“ _Please?_ ”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive any typos, the author has also been on the bourbon tonight.
> 
> Alternate title: Goldfish Need Skis.


End file.
